


Michelin

by Galahard



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: About a Michelin Inspector being confused for a spy, Harry Hart is just trying to do his job, Tumblr Prompt, You know in my heart it's Hartwin but this is just a short fic, and eat nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/pseuds/Galahard
Summary: Based on a tumblr prompt floating around on FB. Michelin inspectors have to be pretty rigorous in keeping their identity hidden, or else they have to vacate a region for 10 years. Someone mentioned it being like a secret agent, or having an agent assume they were a fellow agent and dragging them into things. I couldn't resist, even though I don't really have writing time these days, this little ficlet just wanted to be in the world!
Comments: 38
Kudos: 89





	Michelin

He liked to check his marks out at lunch time for the few that were open, or breakfast on the rare occasion it was offered. He was never there to grade, just to observe. Taking in the number of tables, the decor, how everything was arranged and ran. Lunch time meant lunch menus, often simpler fare, but once in a while a chef would use the opportunity to test something new. It was also an ideal time for training new staff. Plus, he still needed to eat, and there were only so many sandwiches he could make with local ingredients.

The trick was to never visit the same location twice in one day. Visiting a famous restaurant twice in a trip was certainly not unheard of, not at the places with the sorts of esteem he was visiting.

He made a careful notation in his notebook, noting the poor position of a table unfortunately close to back of house doorway, tucked in to provide two more seats but not to provide a luxurious atmosphere, and took a careful bite of his bream, savoring the sauce for a moment and tucking away the fact that it was just a hair overcooked. Nothing to make it into his final evaluation, it may be the sous chef on lunch duty after all, but perhaps he would order a fish course tomorrow just to be sure.

There were few others enjoying lunch at this time on a week day, an elderly couple seated by a window, not that they seemed to notice the view as they spoke with tender glances at each other (and their wine), a table of business colleagues, and another lone gentleman. Those were not quite as common, and this one in particular stood out slightly. He was dressed well enough but he had a bit of slouch to his shoulders that Harry didn’t often see while working. The young man glanced his way, and, slightly embarrassed at having been caught looking, Harry returned to his notebook to look busy before taking another bite.

\-------------

“I’m terribly sorry sir, there seems to have been some mistake. We can seat you when a table frees up, but I fear that won’t be until closer to 9:00.”

There was a bit of a murmur that sounded rather annoyed, but nothing would distract Harry from his consommé. The candlelight made it bloody difficult to tell if the broth was actually clear or a bit cloudy, and he was not entirely sure how he was going to figure it out without drawing attention. It also lacked any real character, so it probably would not even be a factor at the end of the day, but he still wished to know.

Caught up as he was it startled him when there was suddenly noise at his side.

“Could just join this gent here, he’s got a spot empty and all. Ain’t that right, guv?” He looked up to a bewildered maître d’ and the young man who had been at the restaurant the day before looking down at him expectantly. “They bolloxed my reservation,” the other gentleman said as he pulled out the chair.

“Ah, well, yes, go right ahead then.” Harry gestured toward the chair, knowing that the motion was futile as he already had company, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. This was not the plan. This was precisely the opposite of how things should be going. With each passing second a horrible feeling was growing that everything, absolutely everything, was about to go tits up. 

There was a babble of noise from the maître d’, promising something and offering a thousand apologies, only to be replaced with Harry’s waitress who started trying to frantically catch his new tablemate up with drink orders and to get at least his order for an appetiser started. 

“I’ll take what he’s having,” was all the young man said, and at that Harry could feel anger starting to pool in his belly, heat climbing up the back of his neck. Such nonchalance in regards to food? What sort of game was going on here?

“Thanks bruv, it’d have been a real fucking mess if I was stuck out in the bloody cold tonight. Too much at stake, yeah? Reckon you didn’t want no attention either so you wouldn’t be much of a fuss. Ain’t that right.” A smirk played across his lips, and Harry wanted nothing more than to wipe it off.

“I simply took pity on the poor maître d’; I think you gave him an anxiety attack. He appears to have retreated to the kitchen.”

“He’d have more than a fucking anxiety attack if he knew who he’d seated by the damn window.” The young man snorted through his nose, “I’m Eggsy, by the way.”

“Harry,” he replied cautiously, eyes darting over to the men seated by the window. The older couple had been there just the afternoon before, but no traces of tenderness were there now. They seemed to be trading rather tense words, though the older of the two seemed to be taking the time to appreciate his vin jaune throughout their low debate.

“Well Harry, I figured you’d be a little more fucking subtle.” He leaned forward a bit, voice dropping slightly, “Just take the bleeding night off. Don’t know who you work for, but I will, see? Don’t matter none, the way I see it my organization is going to pull rank, and they’re mine.”

The words buzzed through Harry’s ears, and his grip on his spoon tightened. Organization. This Eggsy hadn’t pieced everything together yet, but it was only a matter of time. He was going to be outed, and he was going to have to pack everything up and move. Again. There was always the chance it would be somewhere far better food wise, something with actual flavour, but he had just had to relocate last year, and with his luck they’d ship him home to England out of spite. He had grown up eating there, and not much made him want to do it again.

Then again maybe he would be lucky and get to go to India or Southeast Asia, he could live happily on curries for decades.

A foot nudged his own under the table and he startled a bit, clanging his spoon against his bowl. “Look bruv, it’s alright isn’t it? Our lot always figures things out. Who’re you with, MI6? Interpol? We’ve figured out enough of their fucking agents that they ain’t going to fire you or none of that shit. It’s out of your control.”

MI6? Interpol? Realization dawned and Harry drew in a breath of relief. He hadn’t been outed, not in the least. They thought he was a spy? He could work with that, and at the end of the day his cover would be completely safe. “You should know that is classified,” he bluffed, reaching for his wine and taking a sip, calming the few jittery nerves that remained.

Now he was on the end of an appraising look from Eggsy. “So you ain’t giving up. Tougher stock than I figured. Course only the fucking best are still in the field at your age.” A hint of color stained his cheeks. “Fucking shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean nothing bad.”

Honestly, if he was actually a spy at his age, he would be rather impressed too, so Harry tried not to let it sting too much. “What gave me away?” It would be useful knowledge to see how a spy had noticed something was off, maybe he could protect his identity better in the future.

“Tonight? Nothing. We just had the same bril idea to case the joint yesterday. Saw that bloody notebook of yours and you didn’t look like you was writing no poetry. Looked like notes to me.”

Harry nodded. The notebook was always a risk, and he had forgotten to work on any sketches, his usual excuse for any staff that may take notice of him. He would have to be more diligent in the future.

Eggsy’s own consommé arrived, and he gave it a skeptical glance before taking a slurping bite. Harry’s eyebrows raised as he drank another spoonful of his own, and when he glanced over again Eggsy was giving his bowl an unimpressed look. “Blood hell? They charge for this shite?”

“Too much,” Harry agreed. “If you had waited a moment before ordering I would have advised you to try something else. Though it is not like either of us are here merely to eat.” Eggsy shot him a speculative glance and he continued. “What is your plan? Surely you do not intend to do something in the restaurant, there are far too many bystanders.”

“Depends on you, don’t it? Your organization open to helping out?”

“Not particularly, but when needs must.”

“Next, they should be going to the fucking warehouse. Hopefully they ain’t moved the girls yet. We follow them, get the location, my team takes the warehouse and I secure those assholes.”

Harry hid his shock by coughing softly into his napkin as their bowls were whisked away, replaced a moment later with a fillet of pike with impressively crisp skin against a bed of roasted asparagus and root vegetables. They were supposed to take down actual criminals. If he was going to keep his cover as a Michelin inspector he simply had to go along with it. Which meant he needed to figure out how he could at least pretend to help, and fast.

“I suppose one of us will have to drive. I can presume that I have more experience in that area.”

He took a bite of the pike, almost groaning in relief as the perfectly cooked fish practically melted against his tongue. No, he was not going to just protect his identity as a Michelin inspector. He was going to do his job properly in the meantime. The bastards over by the window would simply have to wait until after he’d had his dessert before they got up to their nefarious deeds.

When he looked up Eggsy was staring at him. “Uh, yeah, guess you can drive. My ride’s out front.”

“It sounds as though we have a plan. Now then, what do you think about the beurre blanc?”

\-------------

Everything was fine. Everything was more than fine. What was 100 miles per hour anyway? 120? And that was while staying far enough behind the pair in front of them that they weren’t obviously following them, though apparently Eggsy had been able to tag their car with some form of tracker.

Harry only hoped that the vice-like grip he had on the steering wheel came across as confidence rather than sheer terror of driving twice as fast as he normally did on the highway. He gave Eggsy what he hoped was a smile and not a grimace of fear, “just another day at the office.”

If he survived this he was going to drink all the whisky in his hotel room. Even if he had to pay the mini bar prices.

\-------------

Eggsy sprawled back in the cabin of the jet, a whisky in one hand, the other idly tapping against the leather armrest. Another job completed. Roxy was finishing up getting the trafficked girls sorted with the proper authorities and once she joined them they’d be headed back home. 

“Oi, Merlin. How the fuck did Harry make it this far without being flagged?”

Merlin came through his earpiece clearly, as did the faintest clacking of keys, something Eggsy only heard when the Scot was frantically working on something, despite the calmness in his voice. 

“It does seem to be a serious miscalculation on our part. I’ve thrown everything at his records, and I still can’t figure out which organization he’s in. I’ve got a full name, Harry Hart, and all of his normal papers seem intact. Age. Dentistry records. Immunizations. There are clear records of him traveling all over the world going off of his own passport. We’re still working on possible patterns, but we know he was in the Middle East when the Swedish ambassador was saved from an assassination attempt, and in Brazil when one of the major drug cartels was unexpectedly disbanded from the inside.”

“What that doesn’t fucking explain is why he helped out, then didn’t even argue about me taking in the criminals.” Eggsy looked down at his drink as he swirled it.

“You don’t think--there ain’t no way he’s on his own? Some vigilante type?”

Instead of whisky whirling over ice he pictured the man in the tailored suit, the little smirk that had seemed to tug at his mouth all during dinner. Just as clearly he could picture Harry’s grip, firm on the steering wheel as he’d cast Eggsy devil-may-care smiles while going well over 100 miles per hour down the road. Casually, like it was a Sunday drive. 

The drive had been so flawless their marks hadn’t even suspected they were being tailed. The way that he’d simply stood back and assessed Eggsy as he’d faced off against both opponents outside of the warehouse. For a split second Eggsy had felt annoyed that he’d been left to deal with both of them, but he still hadn’t been able to help showing off a bit, wondering what the older man thought of his fighting style. If he’d impressed the other spy.

It had probably been the best fight of his life.

Harry had simply helped him to his feet, grip as sure on his hand as it’d been on the steering wheel, hinting at the strength that Eggsy now rather desperately wished he’d been able to see in action. The other spy was probably as fluid as silk, experience combined with a man in his prime. Eggsy swallowed just thinking about it.

Then Harry had given him a quick once over to check for injuries. The sure look in his eyes as he’d made his excuses and left, not even bothering to request a drop off back at the restaurant despite being over an hour away now. 

That was it. Like it was just another day in the insane life that was Harry Hart.

“Merlin, I need you to flag his passport and keep tracking down those connections. Harry is my next case.”

**Author's Note:**

> BTW hi, I'm still alive, and I hope things are going well for people. Sorry this one isn't really Hartwin, you know in my heart it is, and maybe sometime I'll have time to come back and write for these two again. Honestly, part of writing this was proving to myself that I still could, and then my beta and I were sitting around like..."wait, would Eggsy say this like this or??? That's just weird. I don't know why it's weird, it's just off." I guess that means I need to write more than once every two years :T
> 
> The other part of writing this fic was that that prompt shouted Kingsman at me, and Harry and Eggsy have always inspired me too much to ignore them. Parts of this wrote themselves before I could even scramble over to my computer.


End file.
